Chapter 8: Late-Night Truce

Elise Harper sat alone in the Pinnacle Designs office as dusk settled over New Haven, the golden light of the afternoon giving way to a deep indigo that pressed against the warehouse windows. The space was quiet now, the last of her colleagues having trickled out hours ago, leaving behind only the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the old building. Her desk was a battlefield of papers and devices—engineering reports from Tara, the client's brief, her tablet glowing with the latest iteration of the hybrid waterfront design. She'd been at it since the tense check-in meeting with Julian Voss earlier that day, her mind a churn of frustration and resolve, fueled by the cryptic text that still haunted her: The tech deal wasn't what you think. Check the dates.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. The clash with Julian at the meeting replayed in her head—his push for berms over her walkways, her sharp retort about his lack of ambition. Claire had forced them into another compromise, demanding a unified pitch by Friday, and while Elise had kept her towers and walkways in play, the victory felt hollow. Julian's calm logic gnawed at her, his insistence on practicality a leash she couldn't shake. She'd held her ground, yes, but it was a draw at best, and she hated draws. She wanted to win—cleanly, decisively, without his shadow diluting her fire.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, pulling her from her thoughts. It was Mia, finally replying to the email Elise had sent last night. Found something in the backups, the message read. Meeting logs from March 14th—mogul's team and Voss & Associates, no Pinnacle reps. Sending files now. Still digging. Elise's pulse quickened as she opened her laptop, downloading the attachments Mia had attached. The logs were sparse—just a list of attendees and a timestamp—but they confirmed a meeting a day before the email she'd found with Mia's help: Per our discussion, revised proposal incoming. March 14th. One day after her final revisions, one day before Julian's firm had been tipped off. It wasn't a smoking gun, but it was close—a thread she could pull to unravel his story.

She stood, pacing the length of her desk, her bare feet silent against the cool concrete. If Julian had met with the mogul's team before she'd lost the deal, his claim that the client came to him unprompted was a lie. It meant he'd known she was in the running, known her pitch was on the table, and still gone after it. The thought sent a fresh wave of anger surging through her, hot and sharp, but she tamped it down. Anger wouldn't help her now—not without proof she could wield. She needed more, and Mia's "still digging" gave her hope. For now, she'd keep it quiet, let it simmer until she could confront him with something he couldn't dodged.

The office door swung open, startling her, and Tara stepped in, her coat slung over her arm and a takeout bag in hand. "You're still here?" she said, her tone a mix of surprise and exasperation. "It's past seven. I figured you'd be home plotting Julian's demise by now."

"Close enough," Elise replied, forcing a wry smile as she stopped pacing. "What's with the bag?"

"Dinner," Tara said, setting it on the desk and pulling out two containers of pad Thai. "I grabbed extra on my way back from the engineers. Thought you might need fuel if you're pulling another all-nighter."

Elise's stomach growled at the smell of peanuts and lime, reminding her she hadn't eaten since a rushed coffee that morning. "You're a saint," she said, sinking back into her chair as Tara handed her a container and a plastic fork. They ate in companionable silence for a moment, the warm noodles a welcome distraction from the chaos in her head.

"Any progress?" Tara asked between bites, nodding at the tablet.

"Some," Elise said, swallowing a mouthful. "Tweaked the walkways—lighter materials, tighter spans. Cuts the cost closer to Julian's blocks without gutting the concept. Still waiting on your engineers to finalize it, but it's looking good."

Tara grinned, twirling her fork. "Told you we'd make it work. You'll shove those numbers down his throat yet."

"That's the plan," Elise said, her voice firming. "He's not choking this thing with his berms. I'll fight him tooth and nail if I have to."

"You already are," Tara pointed out, her tone dry. "Today was a bloodbath. Poor Mia looked like she wanted to hide under the table."

Elise chuckled, a rare sound that felt good after days of tension. "She held her own. That hybrid idea was hers—she's sharper than she lets on."

"True," Tara agreed, then tilted her head, studying Elise. "You're wound tight, though. More than usual. What's up?"

Elise hesitated, her fork pausing mid-air. The text, Mia's logs—they were secrets she wasn't ready to share, not even with Tara. Not until she had something solid. "Just the project," she said, deflecting again. "Friday's looming, and Julian's a brick wall."

Tara didn't push, just nodded and finished her food, tossing the empty container into the bag. "You'll break him eventually. Always do."

"Hope so," Elise said, her mind drifting back to those meeting logs. Breaking Julian wasn't just about the design anymore—it was personal, a reckoning she'd been chasing since that tech deal fell apart. She set her half-eaten pad Thai aside, her appetite fading as the weight of it settled back in.

The door opened again, and Elise's head snapped up, half-expecting Claire or another late-night straggler. Instead, it was Julian Voss himself, stepping into the office like he owned it, his leather case in hand and a faint trace of rain on his coat. Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at Elise, who froze, her fork still in her hand.

"Evening," Julian said, his voice smooth as he stopped a few feet from her desk. "Didn't expect to find you here this late."

"Could say the same," Elise replied, her tone clipped as she set the fork down and crossed her arms. "What do you want, Voss?"

"Came to drop off some files for the engineers," he said, holding up his case. "Thought I'd swing by, see if you were still grinding away. Looks like I was right."

Tara stood, grabbing her coat. "I'll leave you two to it," she said, shooting Elise a look that said don't kill him before slipping out. The door clicked shut, leaving Elise and Julian alone, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

"Files could've waited," Elise said, her eyes narrowing. "What's the real reason?"

He shrugged, setting the case on a nearby chair and leaning against the desk's edge, casual but deliberate. "Figured we should talk. Today got heated, and Friday's too close for us to keep sniping at each other. Claire's not going to buy a pitch that smells like a war zone."

Elise bristled, but she couldn't argue the logic. "You started it," she said, her voice low. "Pushing those berms like they're some genius fix. You're trying to dilute this thing, and I won't let you."

"I'm not diluting anything," he countered, his calm holding despite the edge in her tone. "I'm keeping it alive. Your walkways are a gamble—good one, maybe, but a gamble. Berms are a sure bet. We need both if we're going to pull this off."

She stared at him, searching for a crack in his composure, something she could pry open. "You don't get it, do you?" she said. "This isn't just about winning the bid. It's about making something that matters—something that lasts. Your 'sure bet' turns it into a forgettable box. I'm not here for that."

He tilted his head, studying her, and for a moment, she saw something shift in his gray eyes—recognition, maybe, or respect. "I get it more than you think," he said, his voice quieter now. "But lasting doesn't mean much if it never gets built. We've got to meet them halfway—Claire, the investors, the city. That's the game."

Elise opened her mouth to argue, but the words stalled. He wasn't wrong—not entirely—and that stung more than she'd admit. She hated how he could do that, twist her fire into a debate she couldn't fully dismiss. "Fine," she said at last, her tone grudging. "We meet halfway. But the walkways stay. I've got numbers coming—real ones. You'll see."

"Looking forward to it," he replied, that half-smile flickering back. "Truce, then? At least until Friday?"

She didn't smile back, but she nodded, a stiff jerk of her chin. "Truce. For now."

He picked up his case, turning to leave, then paused at the door. "You're good, Harper," he said, glancing back. "Stubborn as hell, but good."

"Save the flattery," she shot back, but her voice lacked its usual bite. He chuckled—a low, genuine sound—and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Elise sat there, staring at the spot where he'd stood, her mind a jumble. A truce. It felt like a ceasefire in a war she wasn't ready to end, but it bought her time—time to refine her pitch, time to chase Mia's lead. She opened her tablet again, the hybrid design glowing back at her, and dove back in, her fingers moving with renewed purpose. Julian could talk compromise all he wanted, but she'd make sure her vision carried the day. And if those logs panned out, she'd have more than a design to throw at him—she'd have the truth.

The night deepened, the office silent save for the tap of her stylus and the rustle of papers. Elise worked on, her resolve hardening with every line she drew, every number she checked. Friday was coming, and she'd be ready—for the pitch, for Julian, for whatever shadows the past might still hold.